Swagger
by hailbabel
Summary: [Note: Season 3 spoilers.] Nancy Birch is not often taken by surprise, and yet Isabella Fitzwilliam has done just that.


_"You damned abomination!"_

Striking that devil had felt like the most natural thing. Nance didn't whip him--she wanted him to hurt. Her fingers gripped her birch, squeezed it's leather wrapped branches and wrenched the butt around to smash into his face.

This was not a controlled strike, tempered to minimize welts and wounds. It was a strike of anger, and hate. Cold, and purposeful.

_"Abomination."_

It was bliss. The rod crashed first against the soft, sagging flesh of his cheek. And then against the bone beneath. Nance could feel it as though it were in slow motion, the way his entire head swung around, giving way to the strength of her arm, the way her swing followed through and his filth-riddled body buckled beneath.

It was so much better than flogging culls, because he didn't enjoy it. He didn't want it. He didn't consent to it. But he deserved it.

_"And take this withering ballsack out!"_

She stood in the doorway to the parlour, hackles up, in case his pathetic attempts to wrench free of the manservants bore fruit. She almost wished he would come at her. She hadn't had a good scuffle in a while.

And then there she was, all light and grace, glowing. Isabella took Nancy by the shoulders and kissed her soundly. It was so quick Nance hardly registered the plushness of her lips, the warmth of her hands. A hundred different reactions welled up in her at once, quarreled for control, and evaporated in the space of that kiss.

"Thank you."

Nancy felt very much unlike herself in that moment. Unsure, unable, undone. Out of step and out of control.

And panicking as the seconds ticked by and piled up in that moment. Nancy never panicked, but there was no witty quip for this, no smooth line to deploy. What do you say to a woman who has just kissed you for assaulting her demon kin?

She was beautiful, standing there, pink and breathless, a problem not answerable with a curse and a strike.

The sound that finally came out of her mouth was somewhat inelegant.

"Oh-h!"

Nancy's insides turned to water, and she was near-sprinting out the door, grimacing. She did not turn back. Turning back could be fatal. To turn back was to confront her own cowardice, and what was the punishment for that? To turn back meant she'd have to catch sight of those searching eyes. Perhaps she would turn into a pillar of salt.

Nancy found herself wandering up and down the street, stumbling over the cobbles, kicking stones, cursing. Her temper was so foul she thought for a moment to follow Blayne and give him a good thrashing. It wouldn't solve her dilemma, but it would certainly make her feel better.

To strike a man was nothing. Someone raises their hand to you, you raise yours faster, and strike harder. It was logical. It was natural. Nancy had made a living doling out physical violence, cold and calculated strikes meant for pleasure, or pain. Oft times both. But a kiss? Something that soft and open and warm. That was another matter entirely.

When her wandering was done, Nancy found herself back at St. James. Of course. Where else? This woman was going to continue to haunt her forever. She finally resolved to go back inside.

Isabella was in the library when Nancy came back. The doorman had showed her in without announcing her. Perhaps striking down the devil meant you could go anywhere. Isabella was so absorbed in whatever she was reading that she didn't even look up when Nance stood in the doorway like a little shadow, looking.

Nance felt her chest tighten and her belly did a sort of flip. Isabella really was beautiful. Her hair was piled high, one fashionable lock spooling down over her shoulder. For once, she was not rod-straight. She was leaned to one side, propped on the arm of the sofa, and her brow was furrowed in concentration. All the tightness she'd carried earlier that afternoon seemed to have left her. Her shoulders were relaxed, and her head had a sort of tilt. It was as though she was tipping under the weight of her own self now that the fear and anger was no longer there to hold her up.

Nancy entered the library, still thinking of what she might do or say. She'd come back, as was the plan, but hadn't thought much past that.

Isabella finally looked up, her eyes going wide in surprise, her brows raised. Catching her off guard like that gave Nance a crooked, sideways kind of pleasure. It was only fair, afterall to return the favor.

"Nanc--!"

Nancy tipped her head down, removing her hat as she did so. She pressed her lips to Isabella's, returning the kiss she'd been given, tasting the sound of her own name. It was a soft kiss, feather-light, but full of spark.

Nance cursed herself privately. It wasn't exactly how she'd wanted to start. She'd had something to say, but it wasn't important now. Why was she so out of step around this woman? Her mind and body were at odds and out of sync. It had been so long since she had kissed someone romantically. Why would anyone even let her? Why would anyone want her?

Isabella inhaled sharply at the feeling as Nancy parted from her. Nance fancied she leaned in to try and catch her lips again.

Isabella's hand came up to touch her lips lightly, as though to feel the kiss laid there. When she found she could not, she reached up and led Nancy back to her mouth by the tips of her fingers. Nance let herself be lead. Let the fear go out of her. Let herself feel those plush lips again.

"So, Nancy Birch." Isabella said quietly when they parted again. Her syllables were punctuated by the little breaths against Nancy's lips. "Is that all you came for?" Her mouth was curled into a smirk, her brows raised in question.

All at once, Nancy felt more like herself.

She smiled that sideways half smile, straightening.

"You left that with me," Nancy said, replacing her hat and turning on her heel. "Thought I'd return it."


End file.
